It was a cold day
by LazyScholar
Summary: Harry was only ten years old but he knew how the world worked. He knew that grownups were mean and couldn't be trusted, he knew that magic was bad and witches were evil but most of all he knew that he was a freak and that he had to hide it from the world. But maybe there were exceptions to every rule.


It was a cold day, and the people shuffled wearily down the streets to get home for lunch. The morning had passed completely uneventfully, like any other day, but Harry felt the cold and weariness of those around him seep into his bones.

He shuffled his feet and rubbed his hands warm against his arms, in an effort to regain life in them, before he gazed back up at the queue of other boys. They were in various states of undress. The boy two places in front of Harry had no shoes and what little remained of his socks clung to his feet as if it was two sizes too small for him.

Harry gazed down at his own feet, curling his toes and relaxing them again with a pained sigh. Harry had long since lost both his shoes and socks and had only a second-hand jacket, aside from his threadbare sweatpants and t-shirt.

It was a Wednesday. Every Wednesday the church came around. Sometimes they brought warm food, other times warm clothes which were gone before Harry could get there.

With a rumbling cough the boy in the front shuffled off with his polystyrene cup of soup. Harry was quick to move along the line, watching the boys behind and in front of him habitually. He was third, and he didn't want to lose his place.

The lady who had come that day was an unfamiliar face. Harry knew most of the church workers or at least knew what they looked like. She must be new, Harry thought to himself and wondered if she would come around again or be frightened off like most of the temporary church workers. The lady seemed too old and fragile to be spending her afternoon in the cold street.

Despite her age she hardly shook as she ladled soup into the cups or picked a new vat of soup up onto the table.

"Next, please," the lady called. Even her voice sounded too fragile to Harry.

The boy, with the too-small socks, nodded his thanks before he walked off. He hardly made it three steps before a large hand closed on his shoulder and he froze mid-step. His hands clutched his cup tightly as he held it close to his chest. He didn't look up, even as the large boy, whom Harry knew to be Dudley, growled at him.

The lady had refused to serve Dudley a second serving until everyone had had a cup first. He was clearly livid and he was taking it out on the smaller boys. Small-Socks refused to give up his soup, rather chugging down as much as he could before Dudley could react. A growl, too animalistic to have come from a human, tore from Dudley's throat before he clubbed Small-Socks against the head with his fist. The cup of soup, still about half full, went flying. Without putting too much thought into it, Harry managed to catch it with still about a quarter of its contents left. He looked up at Small-Socks in time to see Dudley swing again.

The next punch landed on Small-Sock's stomach, and the next on his head. Before Dudley could manage another blow, the lady's angry voice made him freeze mid-strike.

"I suggest you leave here," she said, her voice quaking in anger, "And don't you dare come back here or hurt any of these boys again."

Dudley didn't move, only his eyes managed to flick toward the old lady, who had made her way toward him. She was looming over him with the help of her cane.

Harry unconsciously took a step forward when he saw Dudley lift his fist and aim at the old lady, but she acted before he could. She whispered something beneath her breath, flicking her cane at him. Dudley froze and stared at her in horror. His face turned a strange shade of red and Harry could have sworn he saw tears gathering in Dudley's eyes.

With a huff and another whisper, the old lady flicked her cane at Dudley again. He unfroze, dropping his fist to his side like a marionette whose strings had been cut. He didn't waste a moment before he was running to the crowded side-walk, crying out for his mother.

The lady scoffed before she returned to her spot behind the soup vats.

"Next please," she called and the queue was moving again. Harry almost forgot the cup he clutched in his hands, in his fascination with what had just occurred. With a half-hearted smile, he handed the cup back to Small-Socks.

"Thanks, mate," Small-Socks whispered. Harry just nodded before he made for the back of the queue again. He silently chastised himself for losing his place in the midst of the commotion. He had promised himself he wouldn't let it happen again, especially since the last time when it had happened, and he had finally reached the front of the queue again, there was hardly a cup left.

He had tried to reclaim his spot the first time he had lost his place, but he had learnt, from the burning sting of being clouted by an older boy, that once you lost your place it wasn't yours any more.

"And where are you two going?" the old lady called, and Harry almost didn't turn around.

Small-Socks gave the old lady a confused smile, "Fred said we were going to go spy on Mr and Misses Malfoy while they fight, and I mustn't be late."

The old lady frowned, "Peeping-Toms get arrested nowadays, son." She didn't sound awfully angry, though. "Come and let me refill your cup." When Small-Socks hesitated, she frowned, "Come, now. We haven't all afternoon."

And with that said, Small-Socks ran to the table and left with a grin and a brimming cup of soup. Harry smiled to himself before he turned to go.

"And you," her voice seemed to echo around Harry and he swallowed before turning back to her. "You're quite the catcher." She smiled before beckoning him closer, "I believe you were supposed to be next."

Harry nodded slowly and inched closer to her. He didn't hesitate when she held out a cup for him to take.

"Thank you, ma'am."

She nodded, "Run along now. Make sure to get to the shelter early or there won't be a place for you to sleep."

"Yes, ma'am."

Harry made sure to find a secluded place for him to sit and savour his soup, lest he run into one of the bigger boys or Dudley.

The soup was rather watery and large pieces of carrots floated in it, but it was warm and it filled his stomach. The soup didn't last long and Harry looked down into the cup sadly. He had to move back into the crowded streets a lot sooner than he would have liked.

-OoO-

Harry wandered through the streets, pulling a plastic bag along behind him. The factory didn't allow boys to work there after midday, since the police usually made rounds there at that time and it wasn't strictly legal for them to employ underage boys. It was common practice to do so, however, and Harry couldn't really complain and, unlike his 'colleagues', he wouldn't mind working in the afternoons as well.

The busier his hands were the better. Therefore, the afternoons never found Harry idle. As long as the sun was shining, albeit weakly through the stormy clouds, Harry would scour the streets in search for recyclable material as he had been doing for most of that afternoon.

Harry glanced behind him at the nearly spotless highway and down at his recycling bag. His bag was close to halfway full and it started to drag heavily behind him. Nodding to himself, he picked the bag up and headed towards the church.

He generally avoided collecting near people's houses but sometimes it was unavoidable to pass through such areas. As it were, Harry had to pass through one of the richest areas to get to the church. He steeled himself and walked swiftly down the street.

Halfway along his path he stopped to pick up a tin can that was thrown alongside the road. His joints were stiff from the cold but with a little effort he managed to bend down to pick the can up and stuff it into his bag. Just as he stood to continue down the road, a familiar sound made him freeze in fright.

The unique ring of a bicycle bell sounded from up the road, and when Harry looked up he could see some of the rich boys racing towards him. They had some of the nastiest faces that he had ever seen, which seemed to be always pulled into smug smiles or proud sneers. He darted a quick glance behind him but he found nothing he could hide behind.

"Hey, where do you think you're going, you bum?" one of the boys yelled.

Harry started to back away, down the street, but the boys had already caught up. One of the bigger boys pulled his bicycle to a stop right behind Harry, as the other two stopped in front of him.

"What are you doing in my neighbourhood, bum?" the boy sneered, smoothing his blond hair back and out of his face.

Harry swallowed hard and held up his hands in front of him, "Church." His words came out as barely a whisper but the blond cringed as if he had yelled.

"Don't you ever brush your teeth?" he asked, backing up a bit, "Or wash your hands?" The boy shook his head at his friends as if to say that Harry was an idiot. "Didn't you see that sign?" He pointed at the sign that welcomed everyone to their neighbourhood. "It says no bums, and no poor people either. So, beat it."

Harry had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from correcting the boy. He could read just fine, despite what the blond might believe, although the words were rather blurry from where he stood. With a nod Harry picked his bag up again and made to walk past them and continue on his path when the blonde's friend swung a large, meaty fist at his head.

The blow knocked Harry off his feet and he landed on his butt in someone's flowerbed, barely managing to keep his bag from spilling its contents. He looked up in confusion at the swimming images of the laughing boys.

"We said beat it, not feel free to pass through," the bigger one sneered.

"I've to get to the church," Harry stammered, one hand clutching his bag as the other clutched the side of his head where he had been punched.

"I don't care. We don't want you here," the other large one sneered and kicked one of Harry's legs for effect.

When Harry still didn't move, the boys shoved their bicycles aside and descended upon him with clenched fists. The blond took to punching him in the back of the head, whilst the other two kicked his thighs and stomach.

After what seemed to be the fiftieth blow the boys backed away and took off on their bicycles. Harry sighed in relief and felt for his bag, as his vision was slightly more blurred than usual. He found it turned over to his right.

Before he could start refilling the bag a pair of ice cold hands took a hold of his face. "Hey, look at me," said a soft male voice.

Harry did as he was told and found himself staring up into the face of a comically small man dressed in a business suit and a warm cloak. The man smiled, making his moustache contort. "There you are. For a moment there I thought you were hurt worse than you are." The man held out his hand and Harry hesitated before he took it.

Once he was on his feet, Harry seemed to tower head and shoulders above the man but the man just smiled again and handed Harry his bag. With a puzzled frown Harry glanced down at his bag, which was already refilled.

"I spilt it?"

"You must be really out of it," the man said with a shake of his head, "Come inside and I'll clean you up."

"Sir?" Harry shuffled uncomfortably, "I've got to get to the church." He knew what grown men were like. Dudley's father was a grown man, although he was a bit larger than the one Harry just met. Grown men drank and swore, and when they were angry they beat you. As far as Harry knew all grown men were like that, except Father Lupin and the other priests at the church.

"I know, son," he said and started to walk towards the house closest to them, "I'll walk with you as soon as your wounds are tended to."

Harry considered the man's words before he slowly followed after the man. If it came down to it he could always outrun the man.

-OoO-

It wasn't as if he had never been inside a house before- he used to live with Dudley and his parents in a run-down house they had to share with another family- but he felt amazed as he stepped inside. The inside of the house looked incredibly expensive to Harry. The man had every type of furniture Harry could dream of in the first two rooms of his house. One very old wooden bench, covered with various sizes of silky blue pillows, stood to the left of the entryway. In the living room two navy couches stood in a v-pattern, turned towards an old bookcase filled from top to bottom with various books.

To the left of the living room were a small kitchen and a dining room, fully stocked with all the necessities. There was even a small fruit bowl, filled to the brim with ripe fruit, on the dining table. There was a hallway to the right that led to four different rooms.

"Come with me, son," the man said, after he had placed his hat and coat on pegs in the wall.

The man took Harry by the hand and led him down the hallway to the second room on the left. It was a small blue bathroom.

"You can put your bag down, son," the man said and stepped onto a small box so that he could reach the cabinet above the sink. As he rummaged through the cabinet, Harry examined the tub with growing fascination. He knew how it worked, since the church allowed him to shower there once a week, but there weren't any bathtubs at the church. The tub felt smooth under his roughened hands, and it was surprisingly cold.

Harry was busy examining the bottles arranged on the edge of the tub when the man called his attention back to him.

"Sit," the man said, motioning to the closed lid of the toilet. "And put that bag down."

Harry slowly complied with the man's commands and sat the bag down next to the toilet.

"Hold still," the man said as he brought a wet cloth to Harry's face and started wiping the dirt and grime from it. "What's your name, son?"

"Harry."

The man hummed to himself before he pulled a box filled with medicine onto his lap. "This might sting," he warned before he applied a strange smelling liquid with a wad of cotton to the cuts on Harry's nose and lips. Harry cringed at the burning sensation but he didn't pull away. "How old are you, Harry?"

"Ten, sir," Harry mumbled as the man started to apply a salve to his cuts.

As soon as the man was done, Harry made to stand but the man didn't move, instead he smiled at Harry, "Hurt anywhere else?"

"I'm fine, sir," Harry said, and subconsciously rubbed his arm.

"Your arm? Does it hurt? Give me your arm then," the man said, smiling gently.

With a wary look, Harry extended his arm towards the man. He received another smile for his efforts before the man slowly folded his jacket sleeve back to see his arm. An angry red mark met their eyes, and the man huffed out a breath. The man moved slowly and started to feel along the bruise with gentle fingers, moving closer to the bruise as he went before he pulled back with another smile.

"It's not broken," he said as he rummaged through the medicine box again. He rubbed some ointment lightly into the bruise before he stood and returned the box to the shelf. "Alright, do you want something to eat, Harry?"

"No, sir," Harry said, taking his bag with him as they headed back towards the living room.

"Off to church it is then," the man said and pulled his hat and coat back on.

-OoO-

The walk to the church was made in silence. The man seemed contented to keep to his own thoughts, which Harry found he appreciated. It meant that he could think as well. The man had been nice to him, and there didn't seem to be anything to drink scattered around his house. Harry knew this man wasn't like other grown men. With a nod to himself Harry decided that the man had to be another exception, perhaps because he was a lot smaller than normal men?

When the church finally came into view the man glanced at Harry. "I'll walk you up to the church. I haven't seen Remus in a while."

Harry nodded, although he had no idea who Remus was. Once they arrived at the church Father Lupin came out and welcomed Harry with a smile, before he turned to the smaller man and shook his hand with a grin. "It's been a long time, Fillius."

"Indeed it has been, Remus," the man, Fillius, said.

Harry hesitated, staring up at Father Lupin in surprise. He had never considered that his Father had a name of his own, and at that realisation he felt his ears grow warm and hurried into the church.

Harry went inside, but stayed close enough to the entrance to hear the two men's conversation.

"I believe we'll be seeing more of each other this coming year, during the evenings at least," Father Lupin said, "I don't know if you'd heard, but I've been asked to teach alongside you."

"Yes, it's about time you get back to teaching," Fillius said. Harry smiled to himself. The man was a teacher, so maybe the exception with grown men applied to all teachers.

"I'm rather looking forward to it, it's just with my current... ailment I feel as though I should perhaps have declined the offer."

"Nonsense, Remus," Fillius scoffed, "You'll still be a great teacher, regardless."

"How are things with this year's students? I heard that you've been having trouble keeping them enrolled."

Fillius sighed, "It's not as bad as the previous years. I dare say the m... people are warming up to the idea. Our classes are still rather small, but I find that I rather prefer it that way."

Father Lupin hummed in agreement, "I suppose but it does make me rather miss the previous arrangements. It had been magnificent, being taught with large numbers of your fellows and the extravagance at each meal..." Father Lupin sighed happily. "I don't suppose you see something of the like happening in the near future?"

"No, not yet, anyway. A few years from now, perhaps, if we can get enough support and money."

There was a moment of silence before Father Lupin bid Fillius farewell and made his way into the church.

Harry scrambled away from the entrance and tried to hide the guilty half-smile on his face. When Father Lupin only ruffled his hair as he passed, Harry relaxed.

"Are you coming, Harry?"

"Yes, Father," Harry called and carried his bag over to the back of the church where most of the recycling were kept until they had enough to fill the church's old pick-up.

"Alright, let me have a look," Father Lupin said and took the bag from Harry. He scanned through the contents quickly before looking up at Harry with a smile, "You've been quite busy today, haven't you? What will today's payment be?"

Harry smiled back at Father Lupin, "Some cake?"

Father Lupin regarded Harry for a moment before he laughed and lead him to the kitchen. With a bow Father Lupin opened the fridge and pulled a crudely decorated cake out to place it on the counter. "One of the little girls in the area baked it for us," Father Lupin supplied. He pulled a plate from a cupboard and placed a generous slice onto Harry's plate. "Enjoy, my little friend," he said as he returned the cake to the fridge and turned to leave. "Place the plate in the sink when you leave, Harry. And make sure you get to the shelter early."


End file.
